


partial to the cavatina

by acomplicatedprofession



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Mild Language, Piano, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acomplicatedprofession/pseuds/acomplicatedprofession
Summary: Javier didn’t really know about music or theory or any of that other shit. There was probably some technical term for it, some way of articulating how hearing it made him felt, but even if he did know, they still wouldn’t be able to do it justice. It being you, the woman across the street. The one who played piano with the window open.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. sheet music

Javier didn’t really know about music or theory or any of that other shit. There was probably some technical term for it, some way of articulating how hearing it made him felt, but even if he did know, they still wouldn’t be able to do it justice. _It_ being you, the woman across the street. The one who played piano with the window open.

His building was mostly Embassy employees and their families, but the complex that you lived in was popular with expats - worldly, transient kids who shelled out some extra cash so they didn’t have to stay in hostels while they waited for life to blow them wherever. Loose types, a mix of trust-fund babies globetrotting on their dad’s dime and backpackers who lived off of smuggled pot. Javier couldn’t place you, though. Not that you’d ever really met.

You were probably a teacher. He’d seen you walking through the neighborhood, carrying workbooks and juggling school supplies as you reached for your apartment keys. You were younger than him. Pretty.

He knew that you played scales in the mornings before you left. He knew the way you’d play fast when you were excited about something, how you’d force yourself to slow down before giving up and letting your fingers fly again. He knew that you tried your hand at composing, discordant little melodies that got stuck in his head for weeks. All these things he knew about you, but he didn’t know your name. He would like to know your name.

It was springtime, bleeding into summer. In Texas school would be nearly out but here in Colombia terms started in January. Javier was sitting in his apartment on one of his rare days off, musing on how much more reasonable that was, when his attention was called to the sound of lilting keys. Smiling slightly, he ducked his head as he reached for the files littering on his coffee table. He knew your repertoire pretty well by now, which songs you pulled out from the backlogs when you felt nostalgic. It was a light kind of day, and he could tell you were happy. That was always nice. 

Sometimes it was soft, your fingers melting onto the notes and leaving his chest tight. Other times it seemed like you played to let something out, something angry and fast that made his hands feel sore just listening to it. He always listened, though. The small stack of vinyls and the record player sat in a corner of his apartment covered in a thin sheet of dust, Javier never having the time nor the desire to enjoy them, but he always listened to you.

He glanced over at your side of the street, your form obscured by gauzy curtains. The upright piano was wedged up against the sidewall, offering a hazy view of your profile as you leaned over the keys. You played at night a lot, and if it were anyone else he probably would’ve filed a noise complaint. That’d be a dick move, though, considering it was the only thing that helped him sleep sometimes.

You stood up a few moments later, seemingly done playing for the day, and Javier found the apartment achingly quiet in your absence. Distracting himself, he caught the cap of a pen between his teeth and let it hang from his mouth, leafing through the stacks of field reports in front of him. It was near dusk and the sun was washed out, orange and pink.

A warm breeze made its way through his living room and something fluttered near the side window, crackling and catching itself on the parted glass when a stronger wind blew by. It was a piece of yellowed paper, dried glue on the edges where it was torn out from somewhere and black notes scribbled over with pencil markings. Sheet music. Yours, probably.

Should he yell? Should he just walk over and knock on doors, hoping he found the right one? Should he say anything at all? You would probably notice if it was gone, so keeping it as some sort of weird memento was out of the question. Not that he’d do that. That’d be…. weird.

He was still standing by the window, trying to decide what to do, when he heard a voice he assumed was yours. Leaning against the edge of your small balcony, you held a stack of loose, aging papers that matched the one he had.

“Just throw it over!” you shouted, miming a paper airplane with your free hand. Javier raised an eyebrow and pushed his window up farther, the frame jamming slightly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice raised slightly to carry over the distant din of traffic. You nodded, resolute. Fuck it. He could make a paper airplane, right?

A few minutes later and Javier had produced a serviceable, albeit a bit crooked, paper airplane. He felt bad about creasing the paper but it had seen better days and you didn’t seem to care much, so he shoved his guilt aside as he tried to remember the last time he did this. Probably high school, launching them at the back of Chuck Presby’s head during A.P Gov when he didn’t feel like doing the worksheets. High school. God, he was old.

Part of him knew how unbearably cheesy this whole thing was but honestly, he didn’t really care. It was nice, humoring these sorts of things. He could pretend he was normal for a bit.

He walked back over to the window to see you drawing your curtains open, humming the song you’d been playing earlier. You turned when you heard his footsteps, readying yourself with a wide grin. “Go ahead!”

He missed. 

Really, what was he expecting? It was kind of funny though, so Javier managed an apologetic smile as you tossed your head back, eyes crinkling with a loud laugh. It sounded like bells. Like music.

Your expression was still amused when you left your balcony, down to the street where the paper airplane fell onto your front stoop. You waved good-naturedly to him from the ground, holding the sheet music victorious in your hand. Javier nodded back. So that was that.

He tracked your retreating figure out of the corner of his eye as he tried to appear busy, fussing over nothing and straightening files that had already been sorted, when he heard you call to him again. “Hey!”

Bemused, he watched as you scribbled something on the sheet-music-turned-paper-airplane, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in a way he found impossibly endearing. You launched it back at his window. “Catch!”

It was a straight shot, only faltering when it struck his chest and fell to the floor beside his feet. Javier could see your phone number on one of the crumpled wings, your handwriting messy and the graphite streaking against his fingers as he read the note on the other side.

_Sorry you have to hear me play all the time. I promise I sound a lot better without all the traffic. Let me make it up to you?_

You really had nothing to apologize for, but he smiled at your words all the same. You signed your name at the bottom and he squinted at the scrawl, testing how the letters tasted in his mouth. Grabbing a pen from where it lay on the table, Javier turned the paper over and prayed his aim would be better the second time around.

_You don’t need to be sorry. Dinner?_


	2. first date

You could hear music playing on a small radio on the restaurant counter, faint and lively underneath the sounds of conversation and the dull swinging of the overhead fans. The place wasn’t fancy, which was something you appreciated. All the employees seemed to be family members, the customers locals and long-time friends. You got the feeling Javier didn’t make a habit of taking people here often.

The day was warm, easy and honey-slow the way Spanish countries always felt. A hand on the small of your back guided you to a table, the plastic chair scraping linoleum when Javier pulled it out for you. _So chivalry isn’t dead._

A few minutes later and you held a drink in your hands, condensation gathering cold on your palms as you thanked the waiter.

“I don’t usually do this,” Javier admitted after a moment as you looked over the menu laid on the table. You glanced up for a moment, cocking your head.

“You don’t eat dinner?” you inquired innocently, still looking at the list of appetizers.

“What? No- I-”

“ _Kidding,_ Javier. It’s a joke. Funny. Haha,” you deadpanned, trying to keep your expression schooled to avoid laughing. It didn’t really work and a moment later you grinned, resting your face in your hands as you looked back at him. He relaxed at this, the furrow in his brow smoothing over. He looked nice. Handsome.

“I know what you mean,” you assured him. “I don’t really, either. Especially not with… Embassy agents.” You crinkled your nose a bit, recalling past dates involving tapped phones and botched pick-up lines.

“How’d you know I-”

“I see you leave the building sometimes,” you said over your drink, spinning the plastic straw around until the ice cubes rattled. “CIA?”

Javier coughed at this, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “No, uh- janitorial services.”

You offered a wry smile, raising your eyebrows. “Janitorial services, huh?” You took another sip before speaking. “So DEA?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his own hand curled around a stunted whiskey glass. “Yeah,” Javier answered with a small sigh. “You’re a teacher, right?”

“Mhm. English and music over at the international school,” you said, pointing to the bag slung over the back of your chair. “I think I still have some assignments in there to grade.” You twisted around to pull out a small stack of thin paper workbooks, setting them down in front of him. “They’re sweet kids,” you mused. “Very... interesting.”

Javier huffed a small laugh, flipping through the pages. “Interesting how?”

“Well, you know how kids are,” you said as the waiter came by again. You both ordered and turned back to each other, chairs scooted in a bit closer than before and your bare knees brushing against denim. Everything was warm, your head growing slightly dizzy and light-headed. You chalked it up to the weather.

“They um-” you began, the words drifting off as your eyes caught the open buttons of his shirt. “They just…”

His expression grew concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, yeah I just got-” you said, following the curve of his throat as he swallowed whiskey. “Distracted,” you finished with a smile.

The rest of the evening passed by in an easy back-and-forth, a comfortable volley of stories and jibes and debates about food. When you finally admitted that _yes, this is the best restaurant, okay?_ Javier grinned, a bit awkward and boyish in a way that had your heart stuttering on its quickened pulses.

You’d heard things about him, which was probably more than he could say for you. From girls, friends of friends that made a habit of attractive men and low expectations. It wasn’t really your scene but you caught whispers of a man, an American agent with dark hair who was only interested in things he could drink or fuck. You brushed it off then and you thought about it now, watching with curious eyes as he called for the bill.

A quiet part of your head reminded you that you didn’t really know him, that you’d never seen him when he was out in the field or at bars and for all you knew he could be a completely different person. You’d only ever talked like what, three times? Once, shouting at each other from across your apartment windows, then on the phone when he asked if you were free Friday night _(you could be, why?)_ , and then… here. Now. Sitting in a tiny Colombian restaurant practically eating off of each other’s plates, surrounded by the sound of cooking food and overlapping voices.

Javier hadn’t seemed anything like what they’d told you, though. He was sweet. Gentleman-like, in his own way. A little hollow and a little jaded but you couldn’t really blame him for that - not with everything he’d been through. Maybe only time could tell.

\-------

You stood on the stoop of your apartment building, shielded from the summer rain by a leather jacket draped over your shoulders. Walking had seemed a good idea in the beginning but the first drops had come down right before you left, leaving your hair damp and your ankles wet. The glossy asphalt of city streets reflected headlights and distant sirens, streaking and dotted underneath a sky that was quickly becoming dark.

You protested when Javier took the jacket from his arms but he didn’t listen. “Let me play the hero,” he’d said as you held it above your head, enveloped in warmth and the faint scent of smoke. You smiled at this but caught the dip of his chin as you walked, his expression tinged with something empty before he caught your eye and shook his head, swinging an arm around you.

“I had fun,” you said as you reached for your keys. Javier leaned against the doorway, watching as you undid the lock.

“Me too,” he answered, his voice slightly raspy with the cigarette he’d had after dinner. “We should uh- we should do this again. If you want,” he offered. You turned towards him, leading him towards you with a hand held loosely around his shirt collar.

You weren’t normally this bold. Hell, you were _never_ this bold. But something (someone) had filled you with adrenaline and laughter and the best damn tamales you’d ever had in your life until you felt like you could afford to take chances, today and probably every day after that.

“You’re supposed to kiss me now _,_ ” you breathed, the heat in your cheeks blooming until it flushed your chest and made your breathing shallow.

Javier leaned forward, reaching his arms around the swell of your waist. His nose knocked against yours and you swore you’d never seen anyone look at you the way he did - gentle and reverent and slightly hopeful.

His voice came out hoarse and whispered. “Yes ma’am _._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)


	3. people and places

The weather was miserable as Javier took a drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in until it welled up in his chest and burned his throat. “Nice to see you again, Miss Alvarez.” _Lie number one._

She faced back towards the street overlooking the Embassy. “Carolina, please.”

He cocked his head, not meeting her eyes. “Carolina.”

“I’m not here to interrogate you again, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“It’s not.” _Lie number two._

Carolina let out an amused breath, the sound at odds with the tension thick between them. “Todo lo que quiero es un cigarrillo.” Javier obliged, silent as the roll of the lighter dragged against his thumb with a soft click. Nodding at her thanks, he tucked the paper carton back into his suit jacket. They stood like that for a minute or two, inhaling their respective cancers in the transient break. Then he saw you.

You looked a bit frazzled, quick strides down cracked cobblestone echoing faint with each step. A little girl was beside you - she couldn’t have been more than eight or nine- dwarfed by a backpack that was almost comically large compared to her small frame. Workbooks, thick and stuffed with loose papers, were clutched to your chest as you attempted to lead her down the street. He really, really hoped she was your student. Not a kid. Not _your_ kid. You didn’t have any kids, right? Right.

Javier caught your eye a moment later, his expression softening a bit when you shot him an apologetic smile. You tried to wave without dropping anything, weight teetering dangerously for a second before you righted yourself with a small chuckle. You were wearing black dress pants and a formal top that did absolutely nothing for your figure, but he still felt his chest seizing up, tightening with a tiny, imperceptible squeeze that fluttered like cello strings. He hadn’t seen you since you went to dinner (a week ago exactly - not that he was counting), both of you too busy to do much else except leave hasty messages on answering machines. 

Carolina turned, curious as she exhaled a thin column of smoke. “Do you know her?”

Yeah. He did. Javier didn’t want her to know that, though. You weren’t a part of all this- this shit. You weren’t involved in Cali or chlorine gas or journalists or drugs. You were just… you. Lovely and loud and far-removed. He wanted to keep it that way.

“No,” he rasped out. “No, I don’t.” _Lie number three._

She hummed, holding the cigarette between her fingers with a raised eyebrow. Your attention had already been drawn back to the little girl - her fast chatter of accented English carrying over the asphalt - thankfully oblivious to being the subject of any conversation.

“She’s pretty,” Carolina observed. “Doesn’t seem like your type, though.”

He scoffed and put his cigarette out, its crumbling ash compacting underneath the heel of his shoe. “No comment.”

\--------------

Javier wanted to die.

Well, not die. He wasn’t suicidal. If he could just maybe… stop existing. Just sort of fade into something non-conscious that didn’t have to deal with all the mess he’d dug himself into and couldn’t crawl out of. Steve wasn’t around anymore. Javier didn’t blame him.

He honestly didn’t know why he was still down here. Why he’d ever come in the first place, besides anger he didn’t know how to deal with and a weird, twisted wanderlust that could never be quelled no matter where he was. He’d spent his whole life running from things, trying to just get out and get away before the novelty of wherever he ended up wore off. There was really nothing keeping him in Colombia - with its gunshots and questions and deepening scowls - besides his own stubbornness to see it all through. What it was and when it would end, Javier didn’t really know.

He was just tired. Vices called, whispers of liquor voices and red lips that only told him what he wanted to hear, but he didn’t want to listen. The whiskey and women could only do so much and after a while, you get numb. Hunched over.

Then you came along, quick to smile and even quicker to laugh in a way that was infectious, growing on him like some sort of weird, positive parasite. _That’s called a friend, you fuckhead_ , Javier thought to himself. Hopefully more than that. He really wanted you to be more than that.

And he knew you weren’t going to fix everything. He wasn’t stupid. You weren’t some angel sent to find some broken man and make him whole, some called-down messiah without flaw. If he was being honest, Javier found the whole concept of soulmates a bit ridiculous. The idea that someone was just supposed to complete you, to become the air you breathed. _That_ sounded parasitic.

You were your own person, with a life that you would keep living even if he wasn’t in it - but he could still try to stay. Be someone better. Someone who wasn’t cruel or brooding, who didn’t drown themselves in things to feel less hollow. Someone who laughed, actually _laughed_ until his stomach cramped and his cheeks hurt. Someone who was the reason you smiled. Someone who deserved to see it.

Maybe he should try the whole Nicorette thing.

\--------------

“Hey!” you called out, running a bit to catch up with him. The market was crowded, throngs of people packed into narrow walkways all trying to avoid baskets and blankets and feet.”I’m sorry about yesterday. It’s just, you looked busy and I was a bit preoccupied so I didn’t wanna-”

“It’s okay,” Javier assured you, slowing in his stride until you were shoulder to shoulder. “You looked like you had your hands full.”

Another laugh. You always seemed to be laughing. “Yeah,” you said. “We were coming back from a field trip but she got a bit lost, so…”

“Where to?” he asked as he moved to take the groceries from your arms. You didn’t have a chance to protest before the weight of the straps digging into your hands was lifted, his movements careful as to not hit anyone walking beside you.

“Thanks,” you smiled. “Cerro Monserrate, actually.” For all the years he’d been down in Colombia, Javier couldn’t remember going there. Or anywhere, really, that wasn’t the Embassy or field work or shitty dive bars.

“I’ve never been,” he admitted as you neared the end of the market.

“Really?” you turned to him with wide eyes. “It’s beautiful, Javi. You should go.”

 _Javi._ No one had called him that in what felt like ages. It was always Javier or sir or Peña, clipped and impersonal. Never Javi. He liked the way you made it sound - a little breathy, young and alive and washing soft velvet over the air between your bodies. He could hear you say it over and over.

He moved a little closer. “You should take me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Todo lo que quiero es un cigarrillo.” - “All I want is a cigarette.”


	4. consumable

_You did everything right, Peña. But now you’re all alone._ Everything. Alone. Carrillo was long dead. Murphy was gone. And now Martinez was gone, too. Javier didn’t want to call you, to fuck you up with his problems. You deserved more than that. Than him.

He was trying to get better, he really was - for you as much as himself. But old habits die hard and the taste of smoke was familiar.

So he drank.

\----------

“Javi?” Your voice carried over through the telephone, crumbling static. He didn’t really know why he picked up the phone, head still sloshing a leftover headache from the whiskey that never got put back in the cabinet. He just wanted to hear your voice, imagine what you looked like on the other end of the line. You hadn’t been able to see each other much the past few weeks, stolen kisses in doorways and quiet evenings in your apartment doing little to sate his longing.

It was strange, the way you appeared. Crept up on him as some beautiful, musical thing that he didn’t want to scare away with his footsteps the weight of concrete. It’d only been a month but he found himself making room for you, the little cracks left on his skin filled back in and poured by a golden ichor that tasted like syrup and whistled when it rolled down his cheek.

You never really said you were dating. Were you dating? He’d like to think so. He wasn’t seeing anyone else, that was for damn sure.

“Javi, are we still on for dinner?”

Dinner. _Shit._

He wiped a hand over his face, trying to smooth out the hitch in his words. “I’m sorry, baby It’s been a long day.” He could almost see you on the back of his closed eyelids, sitting cross-legged on that tacky chintz armchair in your living room, one slow finger tracing the curl of your telephone cord. You had mentioned something about wanting him to meet your friends, other teachers at the school (one of whom was your roommate) who had no doubt heard every detail of your budding relationship. It was sweet, though. He liked that you had friends.

“Oh,” you breathed, trying not to sound disappointed. “Are you okay?”

Javier nodded instinctively before he realized you couldn’t see. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just tired.”

You snorted - a loud, unladylike sound that made his lips quirk up just a bit. “For someone who’s supposed to be DEA you aren’t very good at lying.” God, he would do anything for you. Did you know that? Did you know how the songs you played looped in his head for hours? How he tried to memorize every single one of your eyelashes when you smiled? How when he was around you, sometimes he couldn’t breathe? Did you know that?

He heard shuffling on the other end of the line. “I’ll tell them to go without us,” you said, nothing vitriolic tainting your voice. Work was never really a topic of conversation between the two of you. His work, anyways. It took up enough of his life without you having to be involved. You never pressed him about it. “Come over if you want, alright?”

The couch creaked as Javier sat up. “Okay.”

\---------

“Ah, and the prodigal son returns!” you called out with a laugh as your apartment door opened, not looking up from your tiny kitchen stove. An apron was tied around your waist, some ridiculous, polka-dotted thing that looked straight out of the 50s. You turned when the lock clicked, watching as he slipped off his shoes. He made the mistake of not doing that the first time he came here and he didn’t hear the end of it for hours. _No shoes on in the Palace._

_The Palace,_ he remembered with a snort. Your name for the apartment was somehow the least strange thing about it. Loose papers covered your coffee, stacked high with books and baubles and tiny market trinkets. Every available surface was covered in gauzy scarves or knit blankets, absolutely none of them matching but still managing to feel right - even next to the weird decorative wall hangings in languages he’d never even heard of. And of course, the sheet music.

Javier wasn’t entirely sure what system of organization you had - if you had one at all. He was pretty sure you used coffee mugs as paperweights, but you seemed to always find what you needed so he didn’t say anything. It was a nice contrast to his own apartment, barely lived-in and sterile. Just a place to keep his socks and shoes before he left again. He could tell you loved your place, though. You made it a home.

“What do you think?” you gestured to the apron with a dramatic spin, the wooden spoon in your hand coming dangerously close to his nose. Javier reached to stop you before you hit him in the face, a calloused thumb pressing into the flesh of your palm.

He looked down, trying to conceal a grimace when he noticed the bright yellow ruffles. “It’s…”

“Absolutely atrocious, right?” you said, gleeful. “I love it!”

Trying to change the subject, Javier stepped closer and looked to the pot on the stove. “What are you making?”

“Mac n’ cheese,” you answered, smiling when his hands came to rest at your waist. He nosed his face into the curve of your jaw, mouthing an open kiss to the skin below your ear. You smelled like cinnamon. “Hey,” you tapped him with the end of the spoon, attempting to be stern. “You’re not supposed to distract the cook.”

“Really, now?” he asked, his hands wandering lower.

“It’s very serious business Javi.” He hummed in agreement, his lips still pressing into your neck. “Grounds for expulsion, one could say.”

“Expulsion?” Javier laughed when you yelped as he pulled your back into his chest. “What, am I your student?”

“Oh yes,” you snorted, mocking half-hooded eyelids as your voice dropped an octave. “And you’ve been very ba-”

Your words were cut off by a squeak as he bit the shell of your ear, chuckling warm chocolate in a way that made your stomach flutter. “You’re horrible at roleplaying,” you pouted as his fingertips dragged across the sides of your ribs. “I was supposed to seduce you with my scholarly discipline.”

“You’re wearing a bright pink apron and pajama pants.”

“And I happen to look very chic, thank you. If you want my food, you’ll have to learn some respe-” His lips met yours, deep and melting soft as the spoon clattered to the floor. Your fingers came to thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, everything forgotten except for the way he tasted like whiskey and something else heady, overpowering and enveloping until you grew lightheaded.

“Am I forgiven?” he mumbled against your lips. You cocked your head, faking consideration.

“Maybe if you kiss me again. I’ll think about it.”

His voice vibrated against your back, soft and low. “I’ll have to do that then, won’t I?”

You smiled. “Yes, yes you will.”


End file.
